Ride On, Valkyria
by OneirosTheWriter
Summary: Faith, fire and fury in Gallia. Follow the Militia through the terror and anxiety. Rated M for what you would expect. Dedicated to some of the unexplored aspects and characters of the game.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This story might start a little slow but there were a number of things I want to explore in a VC fanfic, including what was happening behind the scenes. Things won't adhere directly to the canon plot, it part to keep from being too predictable, in part because it doesn't necessarily work with how I write war-oriented fiction, and in part so I can explore more freely. There are some themes in VC that interested me, that I wanted to see in a bit more detail; the concept of Valkyrur worship, treatment of darcsen, how Squad 7 fit in with its sister units. For those craving action, don't worry, it's coming in spades, but there is more to war than the 1% terror, and some of that can be very interesting too._

Cruising through the frigid night air, the heavily-laden train made its way through the moonlit Gallian countryside. Refugees, soldiers and materiel from Bruhl, Grumman, Hunnerdam and a dozen smaller villages, they were withdrawing back through the shrinking defensive lines to Fort Randgriz. Militia Divisions, both refitting and newly forming, were waiting for them so the Gallians could return and fight another day for their homes.

A pair of locomotives laboured away at the front of the train, their ivory smoke curling just overhead. A series of passenger trains, freight cars and a series of flat bed trailers followed on like faithful ducklings. The flatbeds were adorned with trucks, tractors, bulky supplies, artillery and most impressively, a number of heavily-armoured tanks. Halfway down the long train was a particular tank, unique from the others, with the profile of a medium tank, but with the terrifying Theimer L40/88 cannon normally seen only on dedicated tank destroyers. Two markings already decorated the sloped armour of the experimental tank. The Edelweiss had seen action in the defence of Bruhl already. Carried along by the train away from the day's battles, it sat at rest, like a great cat, sated only for the moment.

Rugged up in heavy azure coats, three people stood next to the Edelweiss, rifles slung over their shoulders as they braved the whipping of the cold air as the train rushed on. The tallest was Welkin Gunther, avid nature-follower and alumnus of the Randgriz University. He was also a gifted tank commander, and a man unflappable under even the fiercest of fire.

The smallest of them was Isara Gunther, Welkin's adopted younger-sister, and an engineer of prodigious skill, a Darcsen persecuted, yet unbowed, whose biological father had devised the tremendous tank they rode into battle. Despite her age, her skills as an engineer gave way to no one, and she drove the Edelweiss in battle with an innate skill that was further refined by battle experience.

The third was Alicia Melchiott, apprentice, and aspiring, baker; a country-bred girl with an active nature. She was also one of the senior non-commissioned officers of the Bruhl town watch, having been an active member from her cadets days, whose performance in the retrograde defence of her town had been keenly noted.

Word had come down the trench-wireless that when they made it to Randgriz to be incorporated into the Militia, Alicia was likely to see a rocker underneath her Sergeant's chevrons. However, with the Bruhl fallen and her town guard killed, wounded, captured or otherwise scattered to the four winds, the prospect seemed less like an exciting achievement and more like a simple change in a deadened routine.

"Ah, you can see it now," said Welkin, breaking into the quiet, speaking loudly to be heard over the rushing wind.

"See wh-, oh, Castle Randgriz," replied Isara as she saw the cluster of lights through a draw in the rolling hills as the train banked across the land.

The glittering cluster in the distance of the walled city amongst the night-swept countryside was like a diamond upon black velvet and drew a smile even from the shell-shocked and drained Sergeant Melchiott. "I love the Castle by night," she added.

"You've been there before?" asked Welkin.

She nodded, bobbing her head with a hint of her usual energy. "Yeah, although last time I was in the train rather than on top of the train. Boss sent me here for some baking workshops, and the non-com training was at Fort Randgriz." They were quiet for a while longer, just watching as the train slowly banked through a turn, coming onto a heading that would be the home stretch to where their new lives in the Militia awaited.

Light flashed on the horizon over their shoulders, drawing their eyes away from the city. A few seconds later, distant thunder rumbled over their ears. Slowly at first, gradually increasing, more flashes lit up the horizon. Isara glanced up at the cloudless night skies, brow furrowing with confusion. "Lightning storm?" she pondered aloud. "Wait, no...," she corrected as realisation dawned.

"Artillery," explained Welkin with a nod. "The sound travels slower than the flash of light so-"

"I know the physics as well as you, Welks," interrupted Isara huffily.

Minutes continued to pass and the barrage on the horizon grew ever fiercer. Whoever was getting hit, and they had no way of knowing who it was, Imperial or Gallian, would be feeling a lot of pain. Soon it looked like the most ferocious thunderstorm, flash after flash with a steady crackling thunder rolling in, gaps between the noises all but disappearing.

"Valkyria's Shield," invoked Alicia softly. Briefly she tapped the back of either hand, a reference to the shield and lance of the Valkyria, a small obeisance to the Valkyrur of lore, whom most of Gallia, and Europa, revered to various degrees in a sort of rather disorganised religion.

Alicia had never been a particularly religious woman, and had always been uneasy around the anti-Darcsen elements that followed the faith, but there were few atheists in foxholes. A near-miss from a tank round had brought back a few things in addition to taking her hearing and sensibility for an hour; namely, her lunch, and some of the religious instruction of her orphanage. Useless superstition or not, anything that might keep the tank shells at bay was worth a trial. It wasn't something she had tried to share with her new friends; her new kamaraden. For one, they were both intensely in the rational world, following science and natural processes, rather than the supernatural. For two, the Darcsen people, of whom Isara proudly counted herself a member, hated Valkyrur worship with a persecuted passion.

"I hope that's our barrage," the Sergeant added, the appeal sounding a bit feeble even to her own ears.

"Drumfire, now," noted Welkin grimly, putting a name to the terrible phenomena. "Probably ours," he said after a while as he put on his strategist's cap. "Imperials have been moving too fast to set up that much artillery support."

As the train ploughed on through the moon-lit night and the morbid lightshow continued unabated on the horizon, Isara shook her head. "I hope so, Welkin."

* * *

Light, daylight this time instead of the rather more infernal light of the night-time artillery, had crept over the horizon by time the cranes lifted the Edelweiss off the railcar and onto a tank trailer. As much as the Edelweiss could handle the roads of Randgriz with aplomb, the reverse was not true, and the treads of the elephantine tank would chew up the cobblestone and sealed gravel in short order. The rail yard was shot through with shafts of golden light from the dawning sun, forcing Welkin to shield his eyes as his sister backed a hefty 5t prime mover up to the trailer.

A truck and a staff car made their way across the rail yard in their direction, kicking up plumes of dust from the packed gravel that caught the sunlight. Spotting them as they bee lined for the Edelweiss, Welkin plucked up his binoculars to get a better look.

"Hey. Company," noted Alicia from where she stood alongside Welkin. "Who is it?"

"Militia 3rd Infantry Regiment," muttered Welkin distractedly. "There's a Lieutenant in the staff car with a Squad 1 badge. The rest that I can see are engineers; Regimental Engineering badges and one Squad 7 badge." He looked over at the woman who had been under fire alongside him just the day before. Before he could say any more, a frustrated shout reached them.

"Alicia!" yelled Isara. "You're supposed to be spotting for me!"

"Just hang on, Isara, we've got company; engineers will be able to help with that better than we can," she yelled back.

With a sigh inaudible over the growling ragnoline engine, Isara hopped out of the cab and walked over to join her friends, slinging her rifle back over her shoulder. Their welcoming committee slowed down as they approached and rolled gently to a halt, letting a blonde officer with tank command patches and a familiar face vault out of his staff car. He walked over to Welkin and extended a hand.

"Hey there, w-." He stopped and blinked.

"Faldio Landzaat?" exclaimed Welkin as the name abruptly occurred to him.

"Welkin Gunther," replied Faldio with a laugh. "A 'daring tank commander in Bruhl' the Captain said; I might have known it was you," he went on, shaking his head ruefully.

"Great to see you in one piece," said Welkin, as he glanced over to see a detachment of engineers gathering together, eight all told, wearing a mishmash of uniforms and work coveralls.

"You too, you too, Welkin." He grinned, a rakish and wry thing. "Nice to break the flow of bad news, really." He glanced at the two women with his old friend. "Hello hello, I see Welkin has been keeping good company."

Alicia saluted smartly, hair bobbing under the scarf as her body snapped into place. "Sir."

Isara likewise saluted the officer, albeit with a much less practiced rendition. "Faldio, it's good to see you again," she greeted.

Faldio turned from Alicia and marvelled at the Darcsen girl. "Isara, you keep growing up in leaps and bounds! Still keeping Welk's feet on the ground?"

"Yes, sir," replied the young woman with the long-suffering smile. "Your friends are growing restless though, I think," she pointed out, nodding at the milling cluster of engineers.

"Ah, yes, yes," remembered Faldio, straightening up his casual slouch. He tossed a glance over his shoulder. "Sorry, Lieutenant," he directed at one of the Engineering Squad men. Welkin blinked in surprise, as it was directed at a man without any visible rank insignias who was absolutely covered in grease stains and dirt, and totally dishevelled. "Well, if this is the new Looey, then this must be Sergeant Melchiott and Corporal Gunther and that," he said, raising a hand to the tank resting above them on the heavy tank trailer. "Well ... that must be the tank the rumours were talking about. What a beauty," he said admiringly, sporting a smile and a friendly shake of the head.

The engineering officer stepped forward, chewing on more of the snuff that had stained his teeth brown. He looked up at the tank, eyes going wide. "Nice lines, very nice lines; wouldja look at that." He looked over his shoulder at Faldio. "Best lines I've seen on anything since that burlesque show in Vasel we caught." He looked back at the tank, oblivious to Faldio giving his best 'who me?' look to Alicia.

"It's the Edelweiss. She's thirty-two tonne, eight-hundred horsepower, I can hit sixty on a road with her, fifty cross country, and she's mounting a Theimer forty, eighty-eight," explained Isara from where she's walked up.

"Valkyrur's ass," swore the engineer as he glanced over at the girl. "Good stuff, darkhair, good stuff," he noted, sliding the racial epitaph in without thought, or heat, but Welkin and Alicia grimaced uncomfortably. "She all experimental shit we can't maintain?"

Isara nodded, unfazed by the gruff engineer. "Mostly standard parts, anything else I know how to cast and fashion; father wanted to keep it as straight-forward to maintain as he could. They're just expensive to make, that's all."

The engineering officer nodded to himself. "So, Theimer's own daughter; I'll be Valkdamned." He laughed, and then turned back to the waiting enlisted men. "A'right, Karl, Dallas, Nadine, you better stick to this girl like glue, learn everything about the Edelweiss you can. My lads won't be able to help this one much."

Three engineers with Squad 7 patches stepped forward to talk to Isara as the Lieutenant clambered up on the tank trailer to get a better look. Welkin noted the patch numbers and turned to his old friend. "Hey, is it seven?" he asked.

Faldio caught the reference and nodded. "Just look properly surprised when the Captain tells you. We had to rebuild three of the nine squads after they got cut off and captured. Squad 7 is the last one waiting for its command and tank berths; add two and two, you get Squad 7."

Welkin glanced subtly at Alicia. Faldio nodded. "No Squad Sergeant yet." He flashed a thumbs-up sign at his old friend.

* * *

The Vasel-built Greenway staff car growled pleasantly as it made its way down the highway from Randgriz proper to the Fort, a slash of tar black cutting through the verdant meadows and rolling hills. Over Welkin's shoulder the hefty Fouzen-A2 prime mover followed them carefully, hauling the immensely heavy tank effortlessly, as row after row of tire rolled on with Isara at the wheel. The engineer's cargo truck rounded out their little convoy.

Up front it was just Faldio, Welkin and Alicia in the staff car, with Faldio driving them to their new homes.

"So, who is the captain?" asked Alicia, able to talk a bit more freely with the privacy and the friendship between the two Lieutenants.

"One Eleanor Varrot," replied Faldio. "EW1 vet, made her way up from mud-pounding. Good officer, good grasp of tactics, decent with people. She is an ice queen though, so watch your step. Can be very cold-blooded."

"How did she lose a third of the regiment?" asked Welkin as he tried to identify passing plant-life by the roadside.

Faldio grimaced. "Half the regiment; the rest of us got mauled as well. Not her fault; Division made the damn-fool orders. The rest of us had to do and die. All too many of us did just that." He sighed deeply, leaning over the wheel. "Some general was relieved for it. Didn't bring any of the dead back. Didn't get our people out of Imperial prison camps."

They carried on in silence, watching the sprawling military camp in the distance grow ever nearer.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I do mostly mean different characters; to be perfectly honest, I mean the ones I tended to take into action in the game, haha. For the time being, I hope to get chapters out at a decent clip, so hopefully I'll be doing more showing than telling what I intend, soon enough._

"Coffee?" asked an orderly as Welkin waited outside the office of CO, 3rd Militia Infantry Regiment.

"Please; black, strong," requested the officer with a grateful expression. As the corporal scurried off to arrange the beverage, Welkin tried to get a handle on how long he had been awake. There was no sleep to be had exposed to the elements, baby-sitting their train as it rode on through the night. He had grabbed a three hour nap the afternoon before the train ride, but that had been about it, three hours in thirty-eight hours awake, after an exhausting and grueling stint in battle. It wasn't even that he had been running around much; the damage had been done by the emotional aftershocks. Valkyrur, but he was tired.

Alicia had been ushered away to meet the Regimental Sergeant-Major, the wiry and grizzled old man of the regiment, whose tremendous force of will overshadowed his modest stature. Welkin had seen RSM Meyers but briefly, and he did not envy Melchiott her meeting. Isara, on the other hand, was in the engineering bays, running the overdue maintenance, replacing the Edelweiss' heavily worn tracks. When his sister had told him she was going to be stuck elbows deep in machinery instead of getting much needed sleep she had been deliriously happy, which made absolutely no sense to him. But then, Isara never got properly excited when he happened across something interesting like the rainbow-shelled Grumman beetles. They were just different people like that, complementing rather than mimicking each other.

The corporal came back with the coffee, fit to knock his back teeth out. "When will the Captain be seeing me?" asked Gunther, as the orderly handed over the coffee.

"She's due back now," replied the other man. "Brigade called her in for a meeting, might be taking a while." The corporal took on a sympathetic face as he saw the new officer sigh. "Don't worry, no more than ten minutes, I'd think, then you can go about getting some sleep. You look like death warmed over, you know."

"Ten minutes ... here's hoping." Welkin lifted the mug in a toast before taking a long gulp. "Needed that... It's been all go since we pulled out of Bruhl. For that matter, it was all go whilst we were in Bruhl." He sighed. "No time for nature sketching anymore."

"Yes, sir," responded the Corporal neutrally. He considered carefully, and then followed up with, "It is reassuring to be getting an officer with some experience already."

Welkin just smiled gratefully. A full thirty minutes of hot coffee and crushing boredom later and a striking middle-aged woman with a Captain's rank tabs arrived, a small knot of orderlies and staff officers in her wake. Seeing Welkin waiting, and nearly nodding off on in his seat, she turned to her staff and issued rapid fire instructions. Her attendant quickly dispersed, leaving her to walk up to her newest officer.

"Lieutenant Gunther," presumed the senior officer in clipped, clinical tones. She was striking, she was chiseled. However, far more than any facial features, it was her bearing was what marked her as the Ice Queen that Faldio had claimed her to be. Welkin knew at a glance this was not an officer to be trifled with.

He stood, leaving the mug behind, and saluted as smartly as he was able with his growing sleep-debt. "Sir."

The Captain looked over Welkin with a keen eye, taking the measure of the man. At length she nodded and then indicated towards her office door. "At ease, Lieutenant. Follow me."

Her office was spartan, few decorations or amenities, a simple desk with simple in-trays and out-trays, a pair of pictures propped up for her to look at. Neat, tidy, organized to the nines, there was little sign of personality intruding into the cold functionality of the room. The Captain took off her uniform jacket and hung it in the corner, before indicating for Welkin to take a seat before the desk. The young naturalist waited with the patience of a thousand bug hunts and birdwatching expeditions as his new commander seated herself and leafed through a file that had been waiting in the centre of her desk.

A few minutes passed before the captain looked up at Welkin again. "Squad 7 will be yours. The people, and the tank, you came in with will be in your squad. Melchiott will be promoted to be your Squad Sergeant. I'd offer you the choice of promoting one of the other Sergeants instead, but we are both too time-limited and frankly, although they are all good mid-level managers, I don't think any of your Sergeants could hold the whole Squad together for you." She looked back down at the file to read on.

"Yes, sir," replied Welkin respectfully. The captain nodded idly in response.

She put down the file and extended a hand across the desk. Welkin smiled and took it for a quick shake. "I am Captain Eleanor Varrot, as I'm sure young Faldio informed you. Welcome to 3rd Regiment. I read that you've seen the elephant already, and that your tank, and you and your comrades, are now combat-proven. It will help keep your Squad in line." She paused to consider her next words. "This Regiment has bounced back from some heavy fighting. Did Faldio mention the botched retreat from Vasel?" When Welkin nodded she continued. "Okay, I won't rehash old history then; suffice to say, our Brigade has been off the line for about a month being refitted. With you and your tank in place, 3rd Regiment is battle-ready. We've been outfitted well; we are at authorised strength for most equipment, including the motor pool, for a wonder. We have nine squads, all at full strength, one tank, one officer, 35 men apiece. Your Squad 7 is a fairly traditional role mix, but with your tank, I'm designating it one of our Shock squads. Any questions?"

"No, sir."

"Okay. Go inspect your Squad, then go and get yourself some undisturbed rest. You'll be briefed tomorrow morning, but the brigade will be moving out." She frowned heavily. "The entire Corp is pressing out towards Vasel, and our division is the lead assault element. Our brigade is 'rested', if half-green with new militia recruits, and we will be leading the thrust into the city proper. We will certainly need you, and everyone else, clear-headed."

Welkin grimaced at the news, and Varrot nodded sympathetically. "Yes, sir."

"One last thing and then we're done for now. I try to maintain close-ties with all of my officers. I have twenty-two officers under my command and my door is always open to all of them. If you have a concern, bring it to me; if you have a complaint, bring it to me ... privately. We're the Militia, not the regular army, so I don't feel the need to be as strict as that; so far it has helped this regiment replace set-back with victory, or even catastrophe with set-back. If it wasn't for the honesty within the regiment's officers, this whole outfit would have been lost at Vasel."

"I understand, sir," replied Welkin, nodding. "I'll keep you in the loop."

Eleanor nodded and smiled. "See that you do. That will be all, Lieutenant Gunther. Glad to have you onboard."

"Thank you, sir," acknowledged Welkin as he stood, saluted, about faced and left, in search of his new family.

* * *

With a sigh and a murmur, Alicia straightened out her brand new militia uniform. The new jackboots were stiff and unbroken in, but of great quality. The thick woolen stockings were warm and comfortable, the fatigues stiff but warm and protective. Over her left breast was an extra cloth rectangle, bearing a device of three gold chevrons up, one rocker down. The combat webbing was barely noticeable at the moment. Of course, when she got around to loading it down with ninety rounds of seven-six-two, three days of rations, four hand grenades, a first aid kit and Valkyrur knew what else, she expected it would be a very different story.

As a squad sergeant she was accorded private quarters. Cramped and spartan, but private, which was a considerable privilege in Alicia's book over the unisex, group accommodations of the squad. Her room was in a longhouse-like building, identical to any of the squad barracks from the outside, but compartmentalised into rooms and set aside for the senior non-coms of the regiment.

"Alright," she muttered to herself as she looked into a small mirror. "I can look the part. Now let's see if we can act the part." She pursed her lips and shook her head with bewilderment. "Staff Sergeant Melchiott, how on earth did this happen...," she sighed. She slipped the pistol she had been issued into a left shoulder holster, and made her way out of the room.

In the hallway was the sergeant-major, Gordon Meyer, feet apart, arms folded and wreathed in lingering cigarette smoke. He wasn't a particularly tall man, nor was he bulging with muscles. He was strong though, his body chiseled and wiry. But his greatest strength was an iron will, a stern grandfatherly demeanour, and an implacable sense of fair play. His hair was cropped to a short, salt and pepper bristle, his cheeks meticulously clean shaven. His blue fatigues were impeccable and his jackboots shined. The cloth tab on the front of his fatigues showed three chevrons up, two rockers down, with a little Gallian crest in the middle.

"Well, I guess you do look the part," observed RSM Meyer as Alicia approached and came to attention. "At ease, Melchiott; you're one of my Squad Sergeants now, I can't have you bowing and scraping like a recruit."

"Yes, Sergeant-Major," replied Alicia as she relaxed her stance. She had been subjected to a grueling inquisition in the Sergeant-Major's office as the regiment's senior enlisted man reassured himself that this new addition could perform the task at hand. In the end, he was satisfied, and tossed a pack with her new Militia-issue gear across the desk.

"Let me give you the heads up on your new Squad. I won't warn you about the Lieutenant, as you know him better than I do at this stage," admitted the older man with a frown. Not knowing one of the leaders of his regiment didn't sit well with him, but with the war on and replacements streaming everywhere, there was nothing he could do about that. "As I told you in my office, in the regular army, no 19 year old, no matter how skilled, would be wearing a Staff Sergeant's stripes. A 19 year old wouldn't even ... well, you might, but very few 19 year olds would even be seeing Corporal's stripes. This is an immense responsibility."

Alicia nodded. She knew it was an immense responsibility; if she hadn't figured it out herself by now, this was the sixth time the RSM had informed her of the fact. "Yes, Sergeant-Major. Why me, then?"

Meyers nodded to himself, as he considered how best to explain. "Just for reference, you're the third youngest Staff Sergeant I know of in the Division. But that's okay for this one, because the median age of this Squad 7 is nineteen. It's almost totally green; green as grass. You will have about four people that have seen combat before; one of them is your sniper, newly reactivated Euproan War one vet. One of them is your first section leader, Sergeant Potter, also an EW one vet, who I moved over from Squad 4 to give some salt to the new Squad. He's not suited for any higher leadership though; he knows it, I know it, we've talked it over. He can lead and inspire a section; he can't hold a Squad together. The other two are Corporals: Cheslock and Stark. Watch out for them both, Stark can be a good influence or a terrible influence, depending how you handle her. She's seen some action in this war so far. Cheslock you need to be careful about because she is stone cold crazy. No way would I have her in the service in peacetime."

The newly minted Staff Sergeant mulled that over in her head. "And my other Sergeants and Corporals?"

Meyer grimaced. "Hold their ranks by dint of middle-school training and town guard service." He made a quick chopping gesture. "If you find the need to replace leaders after seeing them in combat, don't hesitate." The RSM began to walk away, motioning for Alicia to keep pace. "So don't be intimidated; you have more experience than ninety-percent of your squad, and psychologically, you're the best suited person in that Squad to the job. You have a mother's instincts, and your job will require you to be a mother to this herd of raucous, uncouth raw-ass recruits. You are their mother, Lieutenant Gunther is their distant and busy father, and I am the head of the extended family. Personnel issues are not something you should have to take to the Lieutenant; those are not his responsibility. He leads the platoon and directs it in battle and coordinates with Regiment; _you _run the outfit day-to-day however."

"I think I understand, Sergeant-Major," replied Alicia, feeling a little more confident. "Caring, but stern and fair."

Meyers nodded approvingly. "That's right, Melchiott; you are their shepherd's crook, guide them onto the path, but don't be afraid to crack 'em across the head if they stray too insistently," he warned, smacking fist into palm to make the point. "It'll be for their good and your own."

They arrived in front of another longhouse style barracks building, in typical Gallian blue, its paint bright and fresh. A sign out the front gave squad number and regiment details. It was Squad 7's abode. A middle-aged man was quietly puffing away on a cigarette at the front of the building. His eyes went wide as he spotted the approaching rank tabs and he ducked back inside quickly.

Meyers grunted. "Canny bastards had a lookout. Somehow I'm feeling better about this squad already. Well, your kids are waiting; go say hello." His new subordinate laughed and began to walk in, the Sergeant-Major close on her heels.

A flurry of movement could be heard within, dying down just as Alicia pushed open the door and took a couple steps into the crowded barracks room. Arrayed in front of their bunks on both sides of the centre aisle, each clad in their blue Militia fatigues, the men and women of Squad 7 stood at attention. Coming to a halt at the head of the aisle, Alicia placed her hands at the small of her back, stood up as straight as she could and looked around.

'It's okay,' she thought to herself. 'You've handled squads before, you've handled new recruits before, and you've seen how the staff sergeants on the Bruhl watch did it. It's just a bigger squad,' she reassured herself.

"Squad 7," she spoke into the silence. "I am Staff Sergeant Melchiott, your new Squad Sergeant."


	3. Chapter 3

"Squad 7," she spoke into the silence. "I am Staff Sergeant Melchiott, your new Squad Sergeant."

A few eyes glanced her way, surprised at the voice and the person delivering it. In particular, the older faces betrayed unease. Alicia put the surprised glances aside and focused on the task at hand. There was a little hall formed by a small office on either side of the entrance. On a little shelf fastened to the left hand office, was a small Valkyrur statue, a woman with the fabled spiral shield and lance, a little votive idol of Yggdism.

A little spark of doubt flickered within. She paused in front of it and made the wrist-tapping obeisance. It was superstition, she knew, but somehow the calming effect was real. She knew that either of the Gunthers would have laughed if she had told them this, though. Vagabond moths were real, ragnoline engines were real, they would tell her. Valkyrur that haven't been seen for two thousand years? Well...

A soft murmur of approval drifted through the barracks nonetheless, letting her know there were at least a few devout in the Squad.

Weighing her words up in her head, Alicia thought about what she wanted to say to these people. There were many young people here, many people newly in Militia blue, but everyone had been trained through school, and it was not her job to break these people down and rebuild them. Her role was to build them up and forge them into a team. The nerves about speaking in front of so many people, making a first impression that would actually affect her survival chances, threatened to overwhelm her. She breathed deep and started to speak.

"For the past few days I have been preparing and then defending the town of Bruhl as a part of its town guard. When the Imperials came, we held the town longer than anyone in command expected, by working as a team and by never despairing." She paused to look over the Squad. There were a few nodding heads she could see, which buoyed her. "Because of what we did, the people of not just Bruhl escaped, but other towns and villages behind us, and many good Gallians endured to rejoin the Militia. This Regiment has fought hard to slow the Imperials and make them pay a hefty price for every metre of Gallian soil. Most of us here are new to this Regiment, and new to this war, but all of us have spent our lives being prepared for this possibility. From the tenderest of middle schoolers running through muddied fields to seniors running weekend exercises and Town Guards patrolling the countryside and keeping the peace. We will do our part in this Regiment as well, and reclaim our homelands."

Taking the plunge, Alicia walked out amongst her soldiers, moving down the aisle formed by the bunks on either side, inspecting as she went. Her NCOs were at the head of the lines, three sergeants, three corporals, one of each for the three sections.

"Name and section, Sergeant?" she asked as she walked up to the first man on the left.

The man snapped to attention. "Potter, Staff Sergeant," replied the burly and stubbled Lancer. "First section." He was an absolute bear of a man, in his mid-thirties, with corded muscles in his arms that seemed thicker than Alicia's own head, making her wonder how on earth she could stamp her authority on this section leader if he didn't want to play along.

"At ease, Sergeant." She walked to the next in line, a red haired shocktrooper in her late twenties with corporal's markings and terrifying, angry eyes. She seemed to have passion, but also a burning hatred towards the world around her. Despite this, she had a worldly and stylish air, with an artful choker and a hairstyle Alicia had seen amongst the more glamorous club-goers in her time at Randgriz. "Yours?"

"Starks, first section," volunteered the woman. "They call me Rosie."

Alicia nodded, a bit wary of the corporal. "Yours?" asked Alicia as she continued on.

This one was a sergeant, a blonde scout in her mid-twenties with a heart-shaped face and glasses. "Coren, second section," replied the woman confidently. Her gear was impeccably maintained, cleaned, pressed, oiled, but not polished. Everything was clean, but nothing glittered or shone.

The same question was asked of the next in line. This was a scout with luxuriant jet hair, tanned skin and gorgeous dark eyes. The youthful and svelte woman, Alicia's age or possibly a touch younger, was one of the prettiest women that she had ever seen. "Freesia York, second section," supplied the Corporal.

The next was a very rugged looking shocktrooper, a man, clean shaven but shaggy haired, who didn't have the bulk of Largo Potter, but had a determined and rugged air that made him the more intimidating of the two despite the size difference. "Salinger, third section," replied the sergeant with a voice like gravel.

The last of the squad's non-commissioned officers was a shocktrooper with reddish-brown hair and wild eyes that dogged Alicia's step. Her fatigues were poorly kept, but her sub-machine gun was immaculate. When asked the question, she replied, with a laughing lilt in her voice, "Cheslock, third section." The staff sergeant couldn't help but wonder just how stable this Corporal was.

Alicia looked over the six leaders. With the exception of Corporal York they were all older than her, which was in part a relief and in part a drawback. They would be steadier, more mature, but also potentially harder to lead. The deference to rank trained into Gallians throughout middle school would help, but in the end, she would have to earn their respect and the age difference would make that battle just a little more uphill.

Having seen and approved of her leadership group's potential, the Staff Sergeant walked on through the aisle amongst the bulk of the troops, looking over each face, looking in every eye, inspecting the fatigues, the webbing, the armour. They were young, they were fresh, but everyone seemed to be taking care of their equipment, seemed to be focused, seemed to be people she could trust at her back when they went into action.

"Alicia," gasped one of the women as the Staff Sergeant passed. Alicia came to a halt and turned to frown at the interruption. It was Susie Evans, from the Bruhl Town Guard. They had been separated during the fight for Bruhl and Alicia had not known what had happened to her cheerful, albeit hapless, friend. A few seconds worth of a level gaze kicked Susie's mind into gear. "Staff Sergeant, sorry, Staff Sergeant!" corrected the young woman rapidly as she tried to get into the perfect at-attention stance.

Unable to help herself, Alicia sighed and stepped up to Private Evans. She reached out and checked her webbing, making sure she had fastened it properly. After a moment she shook her head and smiled. "At ease, Suzie. Good to see you made it out of Bruhl in one piece."

"Thank you, Staff Sergeant," she replied, a touch of panic still colouring her voice. Her face softened a moment. "Good to see you alive, too, I wasn't sure."

Alicia smiled and continued down the aisle. A Darcsen shocktrooper stood in a perfect inspection stance, a nervous expression on her face as Alicia passed by. A part of Alicia suspected it had somewhat to do with what must be a natural unease that any new commander might turn out to be an anti-Darcsen bigot, and in part a nervous reaction to Alicia's little display of Yggdism.

"Name?" she asked, not unkindly.

There was panic in the Darcsen woman's expression as she came under the microscope. "Private Lynn, Staff Sergeant," replied the young woman as confidently as she could. She wore a rather plain engagement ring on her left hand.

"Don't look so nervous, Lynn," reassured the new squad sergeant with a smile. "They're only Imperials."

A look of relief dawned on Lynn's face as fears of dark-hair insults and dangerous dog duties went unrealised. "Of course, Staff Sergeant!" To Alicia's dismay though, she was sure she heard a few sounds of disapproval. Sure enough, there were at least a few bigots hidden in the squad for her to manage.

She continued on her way down the aisle, feeling reassured that the rather-too-young were leavened out with a few older faces. And then she came across the one that took the cake. Standing only a touch over shoulder-high even to the rather feminine build next to her, was the youngest person Alicia had ever seen in Gallian blues. At a guess, she couldn't be older than fourteen, which put her a year under the restrictions.

"Name, Private?" she asked, kindly nature tempered with shock.

"Staff Sergeant, Neumann, Staff Sergeant," sounded out the girl, with perhaps too much eagerness.

"Age?" she asked, still bluntly. Aisha began to open her mouth to reply when Alicia intruded once more. "Wait, no, don't answer that, I'll feel better about this if I don't know. Present arms," she instructed instead. The young trooper presented her Mags submachine gun for inspection and Alicia noted, with a mixture of relief and distaste, that it was properly maintained at least.

Unable to remain completely professional, Melchiott turned to her superior and looked in askance, hands spread and upturned in confusion. She could not for the life of herself understand what this girl was doing here. Many of the soldiers in the Squad had been young enough to make her feel quite alarmed; because she knew that many of them would have to lie like lawyers to get service in a tavern. This one was just too much however.

"Private Aisha Neumann," began the RSM from across the barracks, a distinct note of discomfort noticeable in his tone as well, "received special dispensation from the Deputy Minister for War to enlist in a frontline unit due to her exceptional natural talents. She is currently serving as one of the Squad orderlies."

For a while Alicia mulled that over, shifting her gaze from the RSM to little Aisha. Finally she just shook her head. "Understood, Sergeant-Major. At ease, Private Neumann." Aisha settled her stance back again.

The new Staff Sergeant reached the end of the barracks and turned around, considering all the faces she had looked through. "I am not here to make your lives hell; that was your Drill Instructors job, and they doubtlessly accomplished that. I am not here to lead you to victory after victory; that will be Lieutenant Gunther's job, and he will doubtlessly accomplish that." At the mention of Welkin's name, Coren, her second section leader, startled. Alicia noted it away for future reference. "I am here to be your shepherd, to keep you from harm and each other's throats." She gave everyone a level gaze, slowly moving her head across the room. "I have seen the enemy and lived to tell; I will do my best to help all of you do the same. But understand they will give us more than enough strife to deal with; I do not want to see any backbiting in this Squad. So help me, Valkyrur, not for any cause," she warned, emphasising with a hard chopping gesture. "We are all ingredients to a complicated recipe and all of us need to join together to make this work." She paused and smiled. "Yes, I was a baker before the war broke out. My door is open to all; I will try and get to know each of you, but if anyone has problems, come to me."

The click of jackbooted footsteps echoed in the barracks as an officer stepped inside the room and locked eyes with Alicia. For a moment, the young woman could not place this intruder, his Gallian blues pressed and crisp, the forage cap tilted jauntily, boots polished. 'Oh my,' she thought to herself, eyes widening. Of course, now that Alicia had recognised the officer, she knew there was little chance of those fatigues staying clean for very long. Looking back the other way, Welkin was impressed at how tough, even stern, his new friend and comrade was in her uniform and bearing.

"Squad 7, salute," she ordered, with a little more warmth than was appropriate.

The Squad moved together in raising a salute, all the crisper for the unforgiving gaze of RSM Meyers. Lieutenant Gunther returned the salute. "At ease, Squad," he ordered, and the Squad settled down. Welkin looked over his soldiers approvingly. "How do they look, Staff Sergeant?" he asked aloud.

For a moment, Alicia was pensive, considering her response. "They're ready, Lieutenant," replied Alicia, more for the benefit of the Squad than anything else and hoping she hadn't delayed noticeably.

"Good, good. We'll need to be," he replied. "Starting tomorrow, this division will be moving forward, to Vasel. I suspect we'll be getting to grips with the Imperials in Vasel soon." Welkin smiled kindly to put people at ease. "So everyone get a good night's sleep, enjoy the comfortable beds, and rest as easy as you can." With a look over the barracks room and a final nod, he added, "Squad dismissed."

* * *

The harsh glare of welding torches flashed across an enormous engineering shed dimly lit by a handful of dangling light bulbs. Shouted orders, the roar of engines, grinding machinery turned the place into a madhouse as engineers scrambled over last-minute maintenance of all manner of tanks and vehicles. The vulgar but effective Lieutenant served as conductor to this industrial symphony, directing teams left and right, his booming voice cutting through the noise. Some forty engineers from 3rd Militia Regiment were slaving over a dozen vehicles.

In a bay hemmed off from the rest of the shed by a few work benches and tool chests, the Edelweiss was up on specially-designed cradle, made to handle the bulk of the tank. Isara and the three engineers of Squad 7, Karl Landzaat, Dallas Whyatt and Nadine were attending to the tank, bolting the right side replacement treads shut, after the arduous task of replacing the deceptively fragile one-tonne slabs of metal. The tricky operation had to be done in a depot like this one where they had use of the hydraulic lift and an overhead crane for shifting the equipment into place. This was the heavy-duty part of a Gallian engineer's lot, and Isara and Nadine loved every minute of it, sweat, tears, blood and all.

Isara took a step back from the tank and wiped her coverall-clad forearm across her brow with relief. "That should do it," she said proudly, looking at the spotless, untarnished track now snugly fitted around the road wheels of the Edelweiss. "Okay, let's have a break before we do the other side. It's hot in here, we could use a drink."

"Oh man," moaned Karl as he flopped down onto a bench. "That nearly killed me."

"Me too," muttered the petite Dallas Whyatt, who was one of the Squad's youngest members. She was rubbing her left bicep furiously, where she had banged it pretty hard, stumbling during some maintenance.

"Oh, don't sound like that, guys," admonished Nadine, moving to sit down on the bench with Karl. "It's great fun getting to tinker with the serious toys."

"You're mad," noted Karl evenly. Whilst Isara and Nadine both fancied working on the heavy machinery, Karl preferred building and inventing devices, and Dallas excelled in a lot of the smaller-scale maintenance issues, especially electrical kits like radios.

"Oh hush," retorted Nadine with a smile. The engineer turned to Isara, who was filling their canteens from a water tap attached to a one of the shed's supporting pillars. "It's nice to have another Darcsen in the squad," she said.

Dallas snorted. "Why, so we can get the hot-heads in the squad even more worked up? I like Rosie a lot, but she sure gets fired up over you guys, drives me to despair." She plonked herself down on the other side of Karl to Nadine and sighed.

"Because it's our fault bigots have issues?" asked Isara deceptively mildly from her spot by the tap, out of view behind the pillar.

"Hey, that's not what I meant," protested Dallas, grimacing.

"I'm just saying; don't take it out on us because this 'Rosie' person wants create trouble. Take it out on Rosie," replied Isara. The thought of going toe-to-toe with Rosie's wrath made Dallas blanch and go quiet. When she got no response from Private Whyatt, Isara sighed and continued on. "Who else is there?" she asked of Nadine.

"There's two others," came the answer.

"Four of us, that's not so bad," mused the tank driver aloud.

"One of the older scouts named Wavy; married with family, good guy, steady, used to live out Kloden way," replied the Darcsen woman. Nadine paused and glanced at Karl, who returned her look with a level-gaze. "And one of the shocktroopers named Lynn, from a village south of Fouzen. Lynn and Landzaat here are engaged." With a bland expression on both Nadine and Karl's faces, they waited for the reaction.

A few seconds passed with just the sound of water flowing onto the ground. Slowly, Isara leaned out from around the pillar with a blank expression on her face. She took a long second look at Karl, as if searching his head for any signs of Darcsen heritage she may have missed before. "Are they now?" she asked at last, blandly. Nadine and Karl both nodded quietly. "Well... isn't that," began Isara before trailing off. She schooled her face carefully, and managed a smile. "Well, um, congratulations?" she went with eventually, slipping back behind the pillar guiltily.

Karl sighed audibly and Nadine gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. Isara came out from around the pillar again, carrying the four canteens. With a sigh of her own she walked up and made the first hand-out to Karl. "Look, it's...," she tried to begin.

"It's okay," replied Karl, who was always a very retiring personality. "We're used to getting flak on all sides."

"It's not that," explained Isara with a grimace."I just don't like the idea of marriages where things aren't equal," she rushed out.

Karl frowned, a little confused. "How do you mean?" he asked.

The younger Gunther bit her lower lip as she considered her words. "Uh, okay, I think the best illustration ... you're Karl Landzaat, right?"

"Oh course," replied Karl, still confused.

"When you get married, what will Lynn's last name be?" asked the young woman pointedly.

It took a few seconds to sink in for the three people seated on the bench. Nadine got the message first and looked away, blushing slightly.

"She won't have one," sighed Karl, a bit dejectedly. "Because under the law she'll still be a Darcsen, barred from having a surname."

"I don't have a problem with a Darcsen and a non-Darcsen couple, but I don't feel right about a relationship where two people aren't equal under the law. At least when a Darcsen marries a Darcsen, we're equally dirt under the law," explained Isara with a heartfelt sigh, passing out the other canteens to Dallas and Nadine, before sitting down next to Nadine. Karl just nodded as he mulled Isara's words over.

They sat and drank and recovered from the strenuous work of swapping the tank tracks in silence for a little while, a morose quartet, until Dallas piped up. "You came in with the new Sergeant, didn't you?" When Isara nodded, Dallas continued on. "Do you know her very well?"

"Yeah, she lived in the same town as me and Welkin. Her name is Alicia Melchiott, she was a long-time member of the town guard and an apprentice baker."

"She seems like a very strong woman," opined Dallas with a slightly dreamy expression. Nadine rolled her eyes and smiled.

Isara leaned out to look along the bench at the young engineer, which went unnoticed. "She is, she was really determined when it came to defending against the Imperials. Alicia and Welkin work really well together."

"You know the Lieutenant as well?" asked Nadine, a perplexed tone in her voice.

"He's my brother," replied the younger Darcsen woman levelly.

Her three companions all turned in unison to stare at Isara. "I missed the family resemblance," mentioned Nadine probingly.

"His father adopted me after my father passed away," explained Isara between gulps of water.

"Really? That's quite a surprise," noted Nadine. "Who was your father?" she asked, since a lot of the more notable engineers tended to be household names in Darscen circles.

Isara coughed politely and quietly deadpanned, "Theimer."

"Wait, _the_ Theimer?" asked Nadine in shock, looking up at the tank.

"How else do you think I inherited the prototype?" noted Isara dryly. "Welkin's father was a good man; he never tried to make me something I wasn't. He let me stay connected with the Darcsen community in Bruhl and with the communities in Fouzen and Randgriz my father dealt with." She looked over and smiled broadly. "I got to grow up being a good Darcsen girl instead of an awkwardly torn Yggdist girl, proud of what I was instead of shamed. Even when Welkin became the one to take care of me, he supported me in that as well."

"That's ... actually really reassuring," replied Nadine. Karl echoed her sentiments with a smile.

"Well, I'm from Bruhl," continued Isara. "Where are you guys from?"

"Wittenheim, south of Fouzen," supplied Karl. "Same village as Lynn. We both had junker workshops, used to be in competition. I enlisted first when the Imperials invaded, Lynn was staying in hiding from the Darcsen hunts for a while, but signed up when she heard I'd ended up in an infantry unit. I dunno how she pulled the strings to get into the same squad as me."

Dallas piped up next. "Faden-Meyer, it's on the edge of West Vasel, and the Our Lady Hildr girl's school. My dear Mama was an electrician, I've sort of followed her footsteps." Dallas bit her lip and looked away, sadness crossing her face. "She's in hospital at the moment, she ... was hurt ... with 3rd Militia Division a week ago." Karl put an arm around Dallas' shoulders, and it was a measure of her grief that she did not react against the male presence. There was a fire in her eyes when she looked back up, however. "She is a very strong woman though, a very strong woman. She'll pull through okay."

"Of course she will," encouraged Isara with a smile.

Nadine was the one to break the silence that fell after that. "I'm actually a local. My family, and the extended family, live in Randgriz proper." She leaned back on the bench. "A lot of my relatives are in blue at the moment; people in the city are low-hanging fruit for the draft office after all. Tony and I don't have any children yet so we both got drafted." She sighed and gave a resigned, Gallic shrug. "At least he is not far, he's in our brigade's artillery regiment. Almost everyone from my extended family managed to get in this Division, so we try and line up our leave passes and still have our Saturday night mixers. I bring Wavy, Lynn and Karl along and you're welcome to join us."

"I'd love that," affirmed Isara with a broad smile.

Nadine waggled her brows wickedly at the younger woman. "I have to warn you though, I like to play match maker, and I have a lot of cousins I'd like you to meet."

Isara laughed as she stood up, leaving the empty canteen behind her. "I'd like that. Alright, guys, time for the other tread." Nadine leapt up sprightly and began to move around the tank with energy, as Karl and Dallas groaned to pull themselves to their feet.


	4. Chapter 4

As dawn began to rise across the fog-clad Gallian countryside, the men and women of Squad 7 were secure in their bunks. Some of them were fast asleep; some of them were wide awake and anxious, unable to relax enough for sleep as they dwelled on the fights to come. Freesia York was one of the former, safely dreaming of dance, music and men, the things that comprised her three major hobbies in the waking world as well. They were common themes for the young native of the village of Rintel in the Barious region. At eighteen, she was slightly younger than the Squad's average, but she had done time in the town guard of Haines, an arts-minded coastal town near Kloden. Her experiences there left her with the rank of Corporal and a role as Juno Coren's assistant.

Noise began to penetrate Freesia's warm cocoon, breaking the bonds of sleep. Groggily she returned to wakefulness. Someone was yelling in the barracks, moving down the centre of the room, creating a ruckus. Eventually it dawned on Freesia that the noise-maker was Melchiott, and she really needed to get up.

"Come on, everyone, wake up, wake up, we've got a lot to do today," called out the Squad Sergeant as she moved through, shaking the bunks as she went.

Freesia groaned, sitting up in her bunk. 'How does that woman have that much energy this early?' she asked herself. Eventually, she woke up enough to remember the Squad Sergeant saying she had been a baker as a civilian, which explained the affinity for early hours. Clad in decidedly conservative militia-issue underwear, a blue camisole and boxer shorts, she slipped out of the warm bed and shivered. Juno, her sergeant, slipped out of the bunk above Freesia's own, and set down lightly upon the floor. The professional and intellectual Juno was one of the most calm and collected people that Freesia had ever met, and she enjoyed working with her. It had come as a great surprise to discover Juno's frivolous side the day before as she carried on about Lieutenant Gunther, whom she had apparently met at Randgriz University. It had improved the new Lieutenant's stocks with the Squad to see Sergeant Coren of all people so undone.

"Hi, Juno," greeted the still-sleepy corporal.

"Good morning, York," replied Juno with a wan smile. "Today's the day, it seems. No more comfy barracks; we're out in the field, now."

"Yeah," sighed Freesia. "Usually when I've been out camping, I haven't had to deal with people out there looking to hunt me down." She gave Juno a dry, sideways look. "Actually, usually I'm the one doing the hunting." Juno tsked in response. "So where do you think we're going to be?"

Juno grabbed her towel off her bunk and shrugged. "I have no idea, Freesia, somewhere in Vasel, is all I know. Couldn't tell you anything else."

"Yeah, I guess not," sighed Freesia.

"Come on, people, we have a schedule to keep," urged Alicia. The whole Squad was on its feet now, with Melchiott beginning to herd the men and women of the Squad through their morning routines, keeping shifts of people moving. They kept men and women alternating in the shower bays, keeping the two genders apart as they could, although there was only so much space in a barracks room for changing and grooming. "Hurry it up," she encouraged, clapping for emphasis. She was, of course, ready to go; Gallian-1 scout's rifle slung over her shoulder, webbing full of odds and ends.

Coming back from the showers partitioned away in the back of the barracks, Freesia and Juno headed back with towels wrapped around them. They did their best to ignore the shy glances of some of the younger men, who were barely more than lads. Or, as in the case of one of the three snipers, Oscar Bielert, were indisputably just lads. It upset her to see such boys, and girls such as Dallas, in this unit, as much as it pleased her to see grown men like Hannes and women like Catherine. But the Gallian Militia had always been spongy with the ages in their drafting and enlisting, and with the Imperial army bearing down the enlisting sergeants were turning ever more extreme blind eyes to ages in the quest for bodies in boots.

Freesia bumped into someone moving around a bunk as she made her way by. It was a Darcsen girl, all bone and wiry muscle, judging by how unforgiving the little bump was. She was a few inches shorter than Freesia, her blue-black hair still damp with her Gallian blues unbuttoned. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't see you there...," she began, then trailed off as she realised she didn't recognise this Darcsen young woman. "Oh..."

"Sorry, my fault," replied the Darcsen woman. "Should be watching where I'm going."

Freesia waved it off, looking at the girl curiously. "No harm, no harm. I didn't realise we had another Darcsen in the unit; when did you join?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound upset at the prospect.

"Just yesterday, with Welkin and Alicia, but I only got to the barracks late; I've been working with the engineers," she replied, her eyes lidded, tired and wary.

"Arrived with who?" asked Freesia, a bit surprised.

The younger woman blinked in sleepy confusion, before a moment of realisation dawned. "Oh, sorry, sorry, I guess its Lieutenant Gunther and Squad Sergeant Melchiott now. I came with them from Bruhl, Welkin is my brother. I'm Corporal Isara, the tank driver," she introduced herself. Agile fingers deftly buttoned her tunic shut, azure camisole and ivory skin disappearing as the fasteners went up.

"Corporal Freesia York," she replied brightly. "So, you'll be our back-, wait, your brother?" repeated Freesia in surprise as part of what Isara said sank in.

Isara looked up in a moment of tired exasperation, sensing this would be a story she would oft have to repeat. "Adoptive brother; my father died and Welkin's father, who had been his friend, adopted me. And for the last few years Welkin has been part-brother, part-surrogate father."

"My my, first he brings Juno undone, then he turns out to be related to Darcsens and a makeshift father, we are led by a man of surprises," noted Freesia with a bemused shake of her beautiful jet locks. She walked over to her own bunk, which was next to Isara's, and pulled a sheet up from the bed and deftly switched the cover of the damp towel with the dry sheet and going about the business of switching into her Gallian blues under the sheet with all the privacy the crowded room could afford.

The Darcsen girl paused from fastening her tool belt upon the gentle swell of her hips. "He's a good man," she asserted quietly, fixing Freesia with a look.

Freesia just nodded, since she already thought that much of Welkin. "You seem pretty young, even more than most of the other people in the squad. Most of the tank drivers I've known are older."

Isara paused, then smiled. "This tank was my birth father's work, and I learned how to drive it whilst growing up. Don't worry; I know how to work it." Isara slipped her traditional Darcsen shawl over her head, a tank crewman's handgun into a shoulder holster underneath the shawl, and then sat down on her bunk to talk to Freesia.

That was a surprise for Freesia, who scratched her head. "Your father made a tank?"

Isara smiled and nodded. "You'll love it when you see it, I promise." The continued attention on the young Darcsen was beginning to stress her out, so she switched tracks. "So what did you do before the army?"

"I danced, all the time," replied Freesia with a beaming smile. "I actually got to do it as a part time job, and served in the town guard to help make ends meet. Was a life of dancing, partying, men and occasionally getting screamed at by cranky town guard officers," she explained with a laugh.

Juno, whose meticulous nature always saw her become one of the first to finish preparing, walked around her bunk to join them. Her rifle was slung over her shoulder; her webbing assembled and fitted out with all the precision a hopeless perfectionist had to offer. "You two ready?" she asked.

Freesia, hung her sheet up, her thick woollen stockings, rugged shorts and a rust-coloured undershirt already on, and shrugged on her field-dress shirt. "Almost, almost, geez, Juno, you're a freak," she complained as she sat down to pull her jackboots on. "Hey, Juno, we have a new friend here, Corporal Isara," she said, nodding towards Isara. The Darcsen girl blushed at the continued attention.

"Oh, really?" asked Juno, looking carefully at the new addition. "Nice to ha... wait. Isara? Are you the Lieutenant's sister?" asked Juno, her normally cool, calculating eyes going wide as saucers. "He mentioned you a lot at the University."

Isara placed her face in the palm of her hand and sighed. She didn't much fancy being this kind of curio for the other soldiers, but it seemed this would be her lot for a while. Unnoticed by her, however, a short distance away Rosie was listening on with a decidedly sour expression. Rosie kept her peace, just continuing to pack away her gear. But the fiery singer was not simply going to forget that snippet of information. The Lieutenant was kin to a Darcsen, and that was a big black mark against him.

* * *

In a darkened room, lit only by the light of an overhead projector, the officers of the 3rd Militia Infantry Regiment gathered together, taking seats amongst the folding chairs. A ghostly haze of cigarette smoke filled the briefing room. Captain Varrot waited beside the projector, where an enlisted man was shuffling slides and notes.

Welkin came through the door and looked around for Faldio. Finding him talking away with the other shock squad lieutenant, one Lina Tarleton, Welkin walked over to snag the unoccupied seat on the other side of his friend. "Hey Faldio, Lieutenant Tarleton."

"Welkin, here on time; better than you were at Rag. U. with the punctuality I see," teased Faldio.

"Ah, Welkin Gunther, the new Squad 7 leader? Please, call me Lina," replied Lieutenant Tarleton.

"Nice to meet you Lina. Either of you two know what to expect?"

Faldio waved the question off. "Nothing more than the basics. We're going into Vasel and I don't imagine they'll be leaving this division in reserve."

He was apparently overheard, because a new voice entered the conversation with a somewhat bitter laugh. "As far from as you can imagine." They all turned around to look at the voice, and saw the Regiment's executive, the Senior Lieutenant, a savage-hearted, red-haired woman in her late twenties named Casey Widdershins. "I hope you're eager to get to grips."

"That'll do, Widdershins," called out Eleanor sharply. The CO and XO exchanged looks, and Casey quickly backed off. Eleanor looked around, counting heads and, apparently satisfied, stood up. The low buzz of conversation died down as she stood in the projector's path, glowing ghostly in the waving light. "Good, good, okay, we're all here."

Eleanor cleared her throat and had the attention of every man and woman in the room. Twenty-two officers were assembled, the nine militia squad leaders, the leaders of the engineering, logistics and artillery squads, the five officers in the Regimental HQ, three medical officers and two loaners assigned from the division's combat engineers. Welkin knew hardly any of them, and could only count Faldio as a friend amongst them. Hopefully that would change; hopefully they would all still be around for that to change.

"As everyone here has probably been expecting," began Eleanor, "Our Central Army is to attempt to collapse the Vasel salient, and then retake the city. Corporal," she prompted, nodding to the enlisted man at the projector. A map of the west Vasel area flashed up on the screen with blue and red lines and hashes and markings indicating the positioning of the two sides. It took Welkin a while to remember what the different markings all meant; his officer's courses in university seemed so far away.

"First, a look at the situation as it now stands, since we have been out of the picture since the retreat from Vasel." A closer slide shot up on the screen, showing West Vasel city and hinterland. "The regulars of First Corp were able to stabilise the lines and with a counter attack, push the overextended Imperial's bridgehead back into West Vasel. The result is a wide but shallow Imperial hold on the western bank of the river. Their breakout attempts have thus far failed for the most part, thanks to hard fighting by Third Militia Division."

She pointed to a section of the map where the lines crossed through the built up areas of West Vasel, closest to the bridge. "The centre is currently being held by our own Second Corp. The northern sector is being held by the regulars in First Corp, southern sector by the Militia in Fifth Corp. In the centre, the enemy holds a line about three kilometres out from the bridge, about a kilometre short of the edge of urbanised West Vasel."

As cigarette smoke glowed in the projector's light, Eleanor went through the slides, outlining the situation to them. She marked out the Gallian divisions, whether they were in reserve or on the line, where Intelligence believed the Imperials were positioned and the important terrain features. Each of the officers present scribbled notes madly to keep up with their Captain.

"So where do we fit into this?" asked Faldio, a queasy note in his voice.

Eleanor's grin crossed the line into ghoulish. "Hottest seats in the house, I'm afraid. Our division is leading the assault towards the bridge, backed by Fourth Division as a second wave. All three brigades are going in, line abreast. Guess whose brigade is in the centre, aiming right for Vasel Bridge?"

The only noise in the room was the soft whirring of the projector's fans.

"No takers?" She nodded to the corporal and the slide changed again, showing a row of six arrows pointing east towards Vasel River, with another row of three behind them. "Each brigade will be deploying two regiments forward, one in reserve. This will be us," she explained pointing to one arrow in the middle pair. A sigh swept the room. "Second Regiment is the other lead element to our left; Ninth Regiment is to our right. We'll lead off with the shock squads, squads one, seven and eight, with one of the combat engineer squads to spread out along the front to clear any minefields the Imperials may have laid. The line squads are our next wave after the shock squads break the outer defences. Squad three, your scouts will be leading the way to mark strong points. Squad four, your lancers will stay just behind the line, get up front the moment we hit anything armoured."

"What sort of armour are we likely to face?" asked the Lieutenant Griselda Einsbach of Squad 4, the anti-tank specialists. Her squad was mostly lancers, tasked with finding and knocking out Imperial armour. To this end, it was escorted by a tank destroyer, rather than a medium tank, a vehicle based off the medium tank's chassis, but with a low-profile fixed casemate instead of a turret, mounting one of Theimer's big 88's.

"Regiment of Timberwolf-fours from Eight Panzergrenadier, regiment of Mink-threes from Twenty Polska. Anything they can get across the river in time from the heavies. They don't like committing the heavy hitters into urban fights, though. It would be a desperation move if we saw a Lupus." Eleanor checked a few notes she had. "We don't expect too many fieldworks in the defence. There may be some towed AT guns in position, but they seem to be mounted up and waiting for a breakout," explained the Captain, pointing to two sections on the map between the Gallian centre and the bridge, labelled '20. Infantry Division (Polska)' and, closer to the bridge, '8. Panzergrenadier-Division (Rhineland)'. "From what we have gathered, their posture is still set for attack, rather than defence, and they wouldn't want things like minefields slowing their own attacks down. That is one bit of good news."

Eleanor nodded to the enlisted man and an organisational diagram flashed up. "This is the other thing we have going for us. All the artillery regiments of the Corp are being temporarily brigaded together, and tasked to the attack. Even though Third Division got chewed up and is pulling back, their artillery component is pretty intact, and will be staying on the line. Almost all of the army-level assets are being tasked to the division as well, which gives us an immense artillery fist backing us up. We have not focused our support like this before in this campaign, so the Imps are in for quite a surprise."

Welkin and Faldio exchanged surprised glances. Taken together, it was a lot of guns. The Gallian Arsenal had been pumping out weapons even in peace time at a rapid clip, to make sure that the Militia, when it was called up, would have weapons to shoot with. They had done their jobs rather well, and each Militia Division had a lot of artillery backing it up.

"Valkyrur's shiny ass," swore Faldio aloud. "That gives us like..." He did some quick sums in his head. "Three-hundred-fifty or so guns across a four-kilometre front."

"There's not going to be anything left of West Vasel...," moaned Fritz Benning, one of the combat engineers, a Vasel native.

Eleanor frowned, a sympathetic look on her face. "Sadly, there's already not much left of West Vasel after the last few breakout attempts. Thankfully, it won't be a very long bombardment. After the shells start to fall the Imperials will get real snug in the rubble and it would take hours to get the same result as the first five minutes, whilst serving as a big red 'here we come' flag. So we'll get a five minute maximum fire-rate bombardment, then about half the fire moves on to interdict the other side of the river. The rest will stand-to, on call for the regiments.

"In the end, we want to reach these terraces overlooking the bridge landing today. They have great firing positions for open park and roadways below, hold those points and you have shut down traffic on that bridge, because there is very little cover once you leave the high sides and makeshift barricades of the bridge itself."

Eleanor took a breath and considered her next words carefully. "There's a lot of pressure on us, I want you to understand. They told me back at Division that they will be looking at us in particular, to make a way through. This salient has become a golden opportunity, because of how shallow it is. We can shatter an entire Imperial Army Corp here. It looks like the Imperials are so taken with the victory disease that they have not realised how precarious their position is. Push back Twenty Polska, and Thirteen Westphalia and Sixteen Saxony will collapse towards the bridge in fear of being cut off." Her face took on a savage light, made ghostly and fey in the smoke-infused projector light. "But if you can rout Twenty Polska ... those two divisions are trapped and doomed, with no way home, and in one fell swoop some thirty thousand Imperials are ours. Army Group Maxmilian will be left reeling."

Awed silence greeted the explanation of just how high the stakes were. Faldio piped up again. "They exhausted one of their regular army corp getting to Vasel. If we can take out their other group of regulars, then they'll be left with their unreliable Reserve Infantry. It'd be months before they could take to the offensive again."

Eleanor nodded emphatically, the ice queen melted by the opportunity she could see before them. "We have the opportunity, we have the resources, kamaraden, if you push this home, then we will have really struck a blow for Gallia. Push hard, and hold nothing back. We will lose good men and women, but ... hard as it is, we cannot stop."

* * *

The sprawling Fort Randgriz base echoed with the roar of engines from one corner to the other. Trucks and staff cars were everywhere, and reckless dispatch motorcycles zipping in and out of the confusion. The great hydra that was the Gallian 1st Militia Infantry Division had awoken and was preparing to hurl itself across the countryside. Name aside, it was for all intents and purposes a motorised division, and when it moved, not only it's nearly ten-thousand Gallian militia-men and -women moved, but also some ninety armoured vehicles, a hundred artillery pieces, and several hundred more mundane vehicles.

Standing at the front of the 3rd Regiment, Squad 7 barracks were Alicia and Welkin, waiting for their lift. Leaning shoulder-to-shoulder against the front wall of the barracks in a companionable silence, the two new friends watched the trucks go by, waiting their turn. Inside, soldiers were sitting around on their bunks, waiting in full kit, ready and able to fight that very minute, but left waiting, with nowhere to go and nothing to do after the frantic rush of that morning. As had been almost inevitable, the initial, wildly optimist schedule had fallen through, and now Squad 7 had nothing to do but wait. Some sat on their bunks and dwelled in their own thoughts, some read, some sat around in little knots of quiet conversation. Off in a corner, Nadine was scribbling away in a notebook. Rosie and some of her friends sat around a chest at the foot of Rosie's bunk, playing cards.

Freesia was with Juno, who was laughing at the dancer as she tried to practice steps in fatigues. Dallas lay on her bunk, reading romance novels she had carefully removed the covers from, legs swaying idly as she passed her time. Wendy was reviewing chemistry papers, products of a university education that would have seen her in R&D or the Officer Corp were it not for the distressing pictures painted by her psychiatric evaluations and her guidance counsellor.

No one dared comment on it, but it smelled inside the barracks; smelled of fear and anxiety, of the high stress levels of soldiers having to deal with the Army's 'hurry up and wait' attitude. Alicia and Welkin relaxed with each other, but kept their ear out in case the anxiety boiled over into trouble.

"Honestly," began Alicia. "I wish that I'd had the chance to get into the fort's bakery at some point."

Welkin slowly turned to look at Alicia. "That's what you're thinking about?"

"That's what I'm thinking about," she affirmed, studiously looking away.

"Really?" asked the Lieutenant sceptically,

"No," replied Alicia flatly. "Some bread would help take the mind off of things though. Fresh, hot, crusty and filling." She sighed.

Welkin smiled and chuckled. "Alicia, you're easier to read than porcavian tracks."

"You know," said Alicia as she idly scuffed the dirt on the barrack's veranda. "I never imagined a man could compare me to porcavian anything without me wanting to break his jaw." She snickered. Her scarf rippled in the passing breeze as the shadows continued to narrow.

"What do you think of them?" asked Welkin.

"Rosie and Largo will be our problem children. No one else worries me on a squad level." She glanced over at her partner. "But there're a lot of children in there. Oscar, Dallas, Nancy, a number of them."

"My sister?" pointed out Welkin wryly.

Alicia frowned. "Your sister is more adult than most of the twenty-five year olds in there." Welkin snorted as he grabbed his canteen. "But ... I get nervous, thinking on how I'm going to be riding shotgun on ... on kids, just growing up. I mean, they're just finding out about responsibility, about the other sex and now they're right in the deep end, with real men, and real women, with adult tastes and adult vices."

Welkin was silent for a long while. Alicia's breath hitched, and she covered her mouth, looking away. After what seemed like an age of the earth to Alicia, she felt Welkin's hand at the small of her back. "Alicia, you have the greatest maternal instincts of any person I know, and that includes my lamented mama. If any person can steer these kids, it's you." He smiled broadly. "But Alicia, remember; you are responsible for not just the kids in the Squad, but the whole Squad. And more important than trying to help them through emotionally, you have to help me get everyone through alive."

"Of course," she replied with the briefest nod.

He bit his cheek as the smile faded, leaving a worried look in its place. "Alicia," intoned the Lieutenant solemnly. "I'm going to be the Squad Leader; I am going to take these kids places, and give them orders that ... that will send some of them to their death. When the time comes, can you set your maternal instincts aside? Can you enforce those orders in the Squad?" he asked; his voice quiet and serious as a heart attack.

Alicia's eyes widened. She gulped, but looked up at Welkin, with as level a gaze as she could manage. Even so, Welkin felt a tremble run through her back where he touched her.

"I will be spearheading in the Edelweiss; it will be you who must lead an infantry charge home; when a Leonard or a Nancy falls, can you force yourself to keep the charge's momentum? To push home and not stop?" Alicia covered her mouth and for a while was quiet, staying locked with Welkin's gaze.

The apprentice-baker, the motherly young woman, with her soft brown eyes and her scarf-tamed twin ponytails, turned to face him, the hand dropping away. "I can," she affirmed softly. "Our home will be Gallian again, Welkin." For a moment, she was hesitant, stepping a little away from the wall, and then resolutely turning to stand in front of her superior. "I can be strong, Welkin. I'm an orphan, I've had to be strong. And you? Can you push on?"

"Yes, I can," he replied.

Alicia's soft eyes seemed to burn as she looked into him deeply. "The road to Bruhl will be paved with our lives, Welkin, can you continue on and never stop? I want Martha to raise her son in our hometown with a Gallian bi-colour flying from the Sister Mills. When I am dead, and Isara is dead, and Starks and Potter and everyone is carried off to the Valkyrur, can you still push on? I will do my part, will you do yours?"

A noisy rush of growling engines and displaced air came past, nearly knocking off Welkin's forage cap, as their rides arrived. The three big deuce and a half trucks, pulling trailers piled with materiel under covers, and a big prime mover hauling the Edelweiss on a tank trailer, generated a tremendous racket as they pulled up and idled outside the barracks. The Lieutenant didn't turn away from his Sergeant, but instead leaned in close to her ear so he could be heard. "I may not live to see a liberated Gallia, but I promise I will never live to see an Imperial Gallia. As long as I have breath, I will fight, and my soldiers will fight."

Alicia took a step back and snapped a salute, her jackbooted heels clicking, before she stepped away, hammered in the barrack's door and bellowed. "Look alive, Squad 7! Up and go, go, go!" Soldiers scrambled across the barracks, grabbing their packs and their weapons again and rushing out the door. Most of them touched the Valkyrur statue as they left, knowing that from here they were headed directly to the front. "Come on, move, move, we've wasted enough time!" shouted their Squad Sergeant. Alicia pointed to each of the trucks in turn as a tide of blue poured out of the barracks like water from a tap. "First section! Second section and snipers! Third section and orderlies! Remember to rack the lances, dammit!"

Isara came out of the barracks in her turn, and stepped to the side with Welkin, being tank crew, not one of the other soldiers. "We'll be in the first truck, Isara. Wait till everyone else loads up," ordered Welkin as he saw her.

"Yes, sir," replied the young woman. Welkin looked and, for the first time since they joined the Militia, really saw his sister. Weighed down by pack and webbing, her body swelling and slimming with a young woman's physique, youthful puppy fat almost gone from her cheeks, the uniform, the jackboots, the corporal's stripes, and gun visible underneath the shawl, it all looked so wrong, so unnatural. He sighed deeply, shaking his head. "What's wrong, Lieutenant?" she asked, mindful of the other soldiers around.

"Nothing, Corporal," he replied. "Just pondering; where in all the Animal Kingdom is there anything as perverse as this species."

Isara smiled and reached out to grab her brother's elbow. "Predators are predators, Lieutenant. Just because our ancestors grew opposable thumbs first doesn't mean that it would have been any different had any other species beat us to it."

Welkin smiled wanly. "I don't know whether that reassures me or depresses me further."

Alicia approached the pair and, with all the Squad watching, snapped a salute, with a bit of customary Militia sloppiness. "All loaded, present and accounted for, Lieutenant."

Welkin returned the salute. "Good work, Sergeant." Alicia about-faced and went to the first truck, followed by Isara. Welkin quick-marched to the driver at the head of the column, slapping the side of the door to let him know they were ready to go. The truck shifted into gear and slowly began to drive off, as Welkin alighted onto the back of the truck as it went by.

* * *

Five hours later, the sun was slowly dying in the afternoon sky. The trucks had been on the road without cease, part of the immense convoy carrying the men and equipment of the division into West Vasel. There had been no break and no respite for the soldiers of Squad 7, who were starting to go stir crazy. The delay in the schedule had cost the militia men and women their lunches, and growling stomachs compounded the frayed nerves of the green soldiers.

For a relief, the trip had been uneventful; sporadic Imperial harassment fire had been ineffective and, barring some traffic jams and snarls along the way, there had been no calamities. It was just slow, and that was making the anxiety all the worse for soldiers who were contending with the knowledge they were getting closer to the front. Throughout the trip there had been very little conversation, very little cheer. Each man and woman, each boy and girl, in the Squad, wrestled with their nerves on their own, in their own way. But they were all of them afraid.

Welkin suspected that once they arrived, acceptance would sink in, the over-thinking would fade and training would kick in.

Ramona Linton, sitting next to her partner in crime, Cherry Stijnen, was looking out through the rear window of the driver's cab, out to the landscape ahead. "Hey," she said, drawing the sound out with a touch of uncertainty. "That's Vasel Bridge up ahead. We're just about there."

"Oh, Valkyrur, dinner is in Vasel," moaned Alex Raymond. "Dinner, soon..."

Largo laughed, a booming hearty sound. "Hunger getting to you, Birdie?"

Alex moaned. "Oh, damn, so bad." He held out a hand, which trembled slightly. "Look at me. I haven't had a coffee since our last meal. So long ago I'm not just hungry, I'm getting caffeine withdrawals, man."

"You liar, Birdie," accused Rosie with a snicker. "No one get's withdrawals from only a day without coffee."

Private Raymond rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but it's close; you know how much coffee I go through. Not your usual militia slop, either. Just get me some hot water; me and my plunger are all set."

"Come on, Alex, don't expect much hot water out there," explained Largo, looking out for his young soldier. "It's not like the public utilities are still working. Nah, when we show up, we're gonna get driven to a post for our Squad, a little way's back of the picket line and we're gonna hunker down. Each section is gonna send a pair of people off to get food from the Regiment Mess team. We try and figure out how to make stone comfortable, hope that the Squad there before us left some amenities around. And then we get some sleep, because tomorrow we dance with the Imperial Army and see who can't keep up."

"Well, if it's dancing that's at stake, we're well set," chimed in Cherry, leaning back against Ramona and crossing her legs with a smug expression. "I can keep on dancing 'til the day is done."

"Shut up, you," admonished Rosie. She rolled her eyes then looked down the aisle towards Alicia. "Watch this one, Staffy, she's sneaky. Used to hang around the bar I sang at, dancing, dancing, dancing. Imagine my surprise when she show's up here and I see what her actual age is, instead of those fake papers."

Alicia turned a baleful gaze on Private Stijnen, who turned on her most innocent of looks, until her traitorous partner in crime gave her a sharp elbow. "So, you are my two hell-raisers, is it?"

Ramona laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, there's a few more than just us, Staff Sergeant!"

"Oh, Blessed Valkyrur," intoned Alicia in exaggerated dismay, drawing long looks from Welkin and Isara. "See, I move to the Big City, and lo and behold, it's a hive of hedonism." She tsk'ed dramatically.

It was another hour before the trucks pulled to a halt within the city limits and dusk had set in as they began to settle into their, hopefully very temporary home. Squad 7 had come to West Vasel, with Imperials only a kilometre from where they stood.


End file.
